Lost in Transit
by lembas7
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi has been listed in the Agri-Corps roster as MIA ever since the Monument was taken by pirates. Even that is incorrect. (First in the "Unclaimed" series.)


**Disclaimer:** Transformative work.

 **A/N:** AU of Star Wars Prequels, starting with the Jedi Apprentice books – Book 1. Oh yeah, we're back to the beginning. Part one of "Unclaimed" series. Followed by "Missed Connection."

 **Summary:** Obi-Wan Kenobi has been listed in the Agri-Corps roster as MIA since the Monument was taken by pirates. Even that is incorrect.

* * *

LOST IN TRANSIT

 _Ow._

Pain throbbed through him, making each shift against the hard surface beneath his back a trial in agony. Three deep breaths didn't return him to calm, but pinpointed the sources of his troubles: his left arm, radiating from a tight and swollen elbow; his head, where wet, sticky warmth clumped his hair and trailed down the back of his neck; his chest, ribs on his right side protesting with every movement.

Blackness persisted even after he opened his eyes, though slightly lessened by a dim, yellow-pink glow.

Obi-Wan squinted. _Where am I?_

It smelled like the stench that wafted up from the openings to the temple's trash compactors.

Blinking rapidly, Obi-Wan rubbed at his eyes with his good hand. Taking a moment, he reached back for the ache throbbing through his skull. Regret stabbed sharply along the line of the cut he found. _There is no – ah! – emotion, there is peace._

There was no peace; but there _was_ pain.

Left arm pressed to his side, Obi-Wan rolled to his knees. Nausea churned at the sudden movement, leaving him heaving against the slick metal beneath his palm. _There… is… no emotion._ He lost time in the fight to keep his last meal in his stomach. _There is peace._

Fuzziness shrouded the memory, but – he'd reached the _Monument_ 's entry portal, and been turned away. Violently, by a set of Whipids that had no qualms about attempting to beat him in full view of the bustling port.

Rightly so, as no one had attempted to intervene.

Which explained his elbow, probably dislocated, and so sickeningly painful that nausea trembled at the edge of every breath. He could feel bruises in the shape of three-fingered hands circling his upper arms, so thin compared to the width of the Whipids' palms that there would likely be only a discolored band around each bicep.

He must have left behind the datapad Master Vant had given him, with his access code and room assignment. The Whipids hadn't been interested in his explanation. They'd tossed him –

 _Tossed –_

Obi-Wan's stomach swooped again, this time with the memory of dropping, with no sense of up or down beyond painful impacts and a flip in his belly that felt like it would never end.

 _I fell…_

Some sort of ventilation or access shaft, maybe; the cover hadn't posed much obstacle to the Whipids, easily two and a half meters high and a meter across at the shoulders. A circular, curving tube, and he'd tumbled down its length – through sliding curves in steep descent, with a fair share of sharp drops in the dark that had done him no favors.

Obi-Wan swallowed, eyes finally adjusting to the dim light enough to see that he had been spat out the end of the tube into what was most likely an alley.

The act of standing pressed tears from his eyes, and left him quivering. Dim light beamed from a source out of sight of the end of the narrow corridor in which he'd ended up. Each step jarred him, sending fresh agony throbbing through him. _At least my legs are alright._

If he needed to run, he might make it a few steps.

Pressed against duracrete at the end of the alley, Obi-Wan peered out. And stared.

Yellowed light beaming down from above, so weak and filtered that it might just as easily have been refracted sunlight as powered lights. Bright slashes of color neoned across his vision from blinking signs. He could only recognize a handful of their words, written in Basic, Twi'lek, and something that might have been Shyriiwook; the rest were an indecipherable mishmash of languages he couldn't parse.

The beeps and whistles of droidspeak pinged below the blur of music emanating from the most vividly-flashing signs; just above the constant low-level hum of engines and air recyclers.

The duracrete beneath his feet was cracked and pockmarked, dulled with age and patched in places with a black, tarry substance that still glistened wetly, though it was long-dried.

Even the air was different; thick and heavy, breathable but leaving him longing for the winds of the Temple's roof that blew away the smog before it could settle. Despite the air scrubbers, a heavy chemical tang pervaded each breath. It was an entirely new atmosphere.

Dread sank into his belly. Obi-Wan's next breath was so shaky he almost choked, the air sour and rank on his tongue. He'd fallen _so far._ The Force willed it, so he was still in one piece, though he couldn't fathom how. And he'd ended up in the one place few beings in the galaxy willingly went on Coruscant.

 _The Underlevels._


End file.
